


Brooklyn's Here

by TwistedLyssa



Series: Newsies OCs [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Mentions of Death, Other, Sad, homophobia is mentioned too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedLyssa/pseuds/TwistedLyssa
Summary: This is the story of how Pistol ended up selling papes in Brooklyn.





	Brooklyn's Here

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it, love from Portugal :D  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> IG: @oflegcnds  
> Twitter: @femmegays  
> Tumblr: musicgays

It was her first day selling newspapers, and no one she'd talked to had calmed her nerves. Everyone she'd talked to told her stories about Spot Conlon, a twelve year-old boy already in charge of the Brooklyn newsies.

As she walked to the line, she rattled the coins in her pocket, drawing the attention of some older boys in front of her.

“Look what we got here,” said the tallest one, stretching out his hands. He had a mischievous smile on his face, one that Pistol knew meant trouble.

She flinched when the boy swung his hand at her, leaving a red mark on her cheek. But she didn't step back. Just like she'd been taught by her father, she kicked the boy right where it hurt most.

In his balls.

She stood proudly when the boy whined in pain, but the moment was brought to an end by the boy's friends, who grabbed Pistol's arms and pulled them back.

The boy she'd hurt got up again and smiled right in her face. “Don't you know better, little girl?”

He put his hands inside her pockets and took her coins. He counted them, one by one, doing it just to torture Pistol, and put them in his pocket.

The boys restraining her finally let her go and left.

_What did just happen?_ She walked outside, going against the line of newsies waiting to get the morning pape.

Pistol sat down on the ground, dirty and cold. Raising her legs up to her chest , Pistol buried her face between them. She'd been stupid enough to tell everyone she had money, lots of it. She'd been stupid enough to hurt that boy and make sure he knew how happy she was then. But it had all turned against her and now she had no money.

Steps startled her. It was already past dawn, why would someone want to buy morning papers to sell? All the newsies were already hitting the streets, selling a pape to whoever wanted.

“Is anyone here?” a rough voice asked.

Pistol curled up into herself even more. She didn't want anyone else's pity or sympathy for this, it was all her fault anyways.

Someone tapped on her shoulder. Pistol raised her head, and saw a boy in a red striped shirt and shorts. He looked threatening.

“Ya okay?” the boy asked.

Not wanting to answer anything verbally, Pistol just nodded and sat up against the wall.

“What's your name?” The boy extended his hand, and his lips curled up into a glimpse of a smile. “I'm Spot.”

_Oh no. Oh no. Shit, not you._ Pistol shook his hand. “Alice. But everyone calls me Pistol.”

“Pistol, huh?”

The girl smiled a little. Just a little, but enough for Spot to be worried. “What happened?”

“I rattled the coins I had in my pocket and some boys decided to take them from me. I kicked one of them right where it hurt, but they still took the coins.”

“You's new here, right? I've never seen ya around. How old are ya?”

Seeing Spot sit down in front of her relaxed Pistol. She extended her legs, but then she crossed them and put her hands between them. “Yeah. I'm ten. My parents died in an accident a week ago, and no one wants to take me in. So I guess I'm selling papes now.”

The priceless look on Spot's face didn't help with the crying, so she buried her head in her hands to avoid facing the boy, who she knew was the leader of the Brooklyn newsies.

“Sorry,” he said, caressing Pistol's leg in an attempt to calm the girl. “Can you describe the boys?”

Pistol wiped the tears off her face and dried her hands on her shirt. “There were three. The tallest one had brown hair that looked fluffy, and the other two were just a bit taller than me and had light brown hair.”

“Not those idiots again. I'mma have to kick 'em out the lodging house. They never learn.”

_Idiots? Again? Lodging house? What is happening?_

Pistol got up, making Spot stand too. She straightened her overalls and her shirt. “I'm taking too much of your time. Sorry 'bout that.”

The boy put his hand on her shoulder and gave the girl a warm smile.

_So Spot can actually feel something other than anger, huh?_

“Nah, don't worry. I have enough money to skip a day of selling. What we need to do is teach ya the basics about this.”

They started walking towards the empty circulation gate when Pistol spotted the three boys that had jumped her earlier on the street, just a few feet away from them. She tugged at Spot's sleeve. “Hey,” she said, pointing at the group of boys, “those are the boys that hurt me earlier.”

Spot turned around and saw three boys sitting on the edge of the pavement, playing with the coins they'd taken from Pistol.

Instead of waiting for Pistol to say anything else, he rushed over to the group. Pistol stayed back, and she found the scene between them really interesting.

The boys' reaction to seeing Spot pull up on them and demand the money was amazing; they all went ghostly pale and quickly put all the coins on Spot's extended palm.

When he came back, Pistol had her arms crossed in front of her chest and a smile on her face.

“You's got money.”

“My family had money, and I managed to find some my parents had stashed around the house. It was the day after I learned they were dead, actually.”

Spot kept a straight face and handed Pistol her coins. “Then what is ya doing here? Don't ya have relatives that want ya?”

Pistol stashed her coins on her front pocket and started walking, and Spot just went with her. “It's a funny story.”

“Go ahead.”

“I had this friend, Rose. She always came home with me after school since her parents worked late. I guess you could say I liked my friend too much, because my grandma caught me kissing her a few months ago and my entire family disowned me. My parents were cool, but now they're dead.”

“And you's alive, still.” Spot stopped walking and turned around to face Pistol. He put his hands on her shoulders. “You's the bravest.”

Pistol smiled and looked down, trying to hold back tears. Not sad tears, happy ones. “What are we gonna do today?”

“It's no use to sell, so what about a tour around here?”

“Sounds good.”

They walked off to the Brooklyn Bridge, ready to start walking around the city.

***

When she entered the lodging house for the first time, Pistol curled up into a ball while walking, shielding herself from the looks everyone gave her.

But that was cut out when Spot announced a new newsie would be staying at the lodging house. Soon, questions started flooding Pistol's ears, until she couldn't take it any more.

“Hey! Please. One at a time.”

Everyone stood back. This scrawny little kid had just shushed everyone around her, people years and years older than her.

A girl just about Pistol's age stepped forward, pushing her way through the crowd. She extended her hand, which Pistol shyly shook. “Hi. I'm Smalls. Like your name. Pistol does seem to fit ya.”

Pistol smiled, and she knew right then and there she had just found a new family.

 


End file.
